Full of Grace
by makesmyheadspin
Summary: MOVED TO WP AFTER CH 5! Sookie and Eric have worked together for years. She's a sweet girl looking for love that always ends up in dead end relationships. Eric is the busboy with a mysterious past that never speaks. Sookie is brutally attacked on her way home from work, and it changes her relationship with Eric forever. Inspired by Untamed Heart. AH/OOC CONTAINS SEXUAL VIOLENCE.
1. World Spins Madly On

**So yay, new story! I've been wanting to write this for a while now and it finally came together. For those reading The Playground, I'm working on chapter 47. I haven't given up on it. Hopefully it'll be finished soon. This story is heavily influenced by the movie Untamed Heart, but it's not quite the same. You'll see why in a few chapters. I'm shooting for 20 or less and I'm working on chapter 11 right now. I hope you enjoy the first chapter. Not all of them will be this short.**

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**Chapter 1**

I hurry to the back of Stan's Diner, where I work as a waitress, to get my coat on. I'm already leaving late thanks to Arlene never showing up on time like she's supposed to. I swear she must have the most unhealthy, irresponsible children on the planet. While I'm zipping up my coat the busboy, Eric, comes back with his dirty bucket of water from mopping the floors.

"Hi, Eric," I smile at him, and it seems to startle the guy.

He doesn't respond, but that's nothing new. I've been waiting tables here since I was sixteen, so for almost ten years now. Eric started working here about four years ago, and in all that time I think I may have heard him speak twice. Neither time were his words directed at me.

"Well, have a good night," I say to him anyway.

He lifts his eyes for just a moment to nod, and then he goes back to staring at the floor. He's a strange one, that Eric, but about as worrisome as a spring rain. Rumors have gone around about him. Eric isn't originally from around here, but then neither am I. My father got transferred up here for work when I was nine so I moved with him and my brother.

Mom left when I was two. She just couldn't handle the responsibility of being a mother, I guess. I've seen her a handful of times in my twenty-five years but I wouldn't call us close. Dad remarried when I was twelve, and even though I wasn't crazy about Pam in the beginning, she's grown on me. She's really the only mother figure I've ever known.

I hustle out the back door of the diner and haul ass toward home. Alcide, the guy I've been seeing the last two months, is picking me up in a little more than an hour. He got tickets for a Bears game, and I haven't been to a football game in a long time. I'm more of a baseball fan, personally, but I can learn to like football if it's important to Alcide.

He's a great guy who comes from a good family and has a good job. He's good looking, smart, hardworking, well mannered and straight. There's no ex-wife or baby mama drama to deal with. He's damn near a unicorn.

By the time I finally get to my block I'm in a dead run toward the house. It's the last week of November and there's already snow on the ground. We got our first blanket of the cursed stuff before Halloween and just three days before that it had been in the seventies outside. It's ridiculous; it's also typical Chicago weather.

Inside the house, my brother is sprawled out on the couch watching ESPN while Pam is putting up her tacky ass fake white tree. Generally speaking, Pam has good taste. I don't share her sense of style, but that's okay. What I will never be on board with is the hideous white tree she parks in our living room every December.

I breeze right past them and run up the stairs.

"Sookie, your shoes are wet!" Pam calls out like I don't already know.

"I'm in a hurry!" I yell back since I can state the obvious too, and then slam the bathroom door behind me.

I strip out of my dirty uniform and do a quick wash up in the sink so I don't stink too much like the diner. The whole time I'm cursing Arlene for being late. I swear it's like she knows when I need to leave on time, if not early, and does her damnedest to make sure it doesn't happen.

When I'm as clean as I can get without taking a shower I go to my room to change clothes. Already I have a tidy, neatly wrapped pile of Christmas presents for Alcide stacked up by my dresser.

I put on fresh underwear and a better bra than the one I wore to work, and then grab a pair of boot cut jeans and a series of shirts to layer on. In Chicago during the winter, layering is essential if you want to be outside, and it's even colder by the lake. Back in Louisiana, where I'm originally from, the term 'lake effect' doesn't exist.

I put on my jeans and two of the three layers I'm planning to wear in top, and then sit at my vanity to touch up my makeup. I'm just spraying on perfume when Alcide honks his horn outside.

"Shit," I mutter, and run around my room to get my fleece sweater on, and grab my coat and purse.

Pam is stringing red lights on her eye sore of a tree, and Jason is still watching TV when I come downstairs. I leave without saying goodbye and run out to Alcide's truck.

As soon as I open the door I'm greeted with the familiar scent of sawdust mixed with his cologne, and I climb up into the cab with him. He smiles at me, but when I lean over to kiss him hello there's no kiss back. Something isn't right.

"Are you okay?" I ask him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he says, but makes no move to put the truck in gear.

There's something off in those emerald green eyes of his, and in less than three seconds I know what's coming. I've seen this look before. I've seen it more times than I can count.

"Aren't we going to the game?" I ask anyway just on the chance that I'm wrong.

"Actually," he starts and my heart sinks. "I was thinking maybe we'd go another time."

Uh huh. Like when hell freezes over, right?

"If that's what you want," I say nervously. I know there's more coming. "We could just go to dinner if you want."

"Actually," he starts again and I know the ending isn't one I'm going to like. "I was thinking maybe we should take a step back. You know, maybe see other people for a while."

Yep, there it is. Next thing you know he'll be saying it's not my fault, that I didn't do anything wrong.

"But I don't want to see other people," I tell him, my eyes welling up. I'm not in love with Alcide, but I'm definitely in serious like with him.

"I just think we're moving too fast."

"Okay, so we'll slow it down," I offer.

Then it hits me.

"There's already someone else, isn't there?" I ask.

The look in his eyes says it all. He's found someone else.

"What is wrong with me?" I mutter to myself.

The only thing every guy I've ever dated has in common is that they've all dumped me. Now it looks like Alcide gets to join that club.

"Sookie, you're great, really," he starts, but I don't want to hear the rest.

"If I'm so great then why are you dumping me?" I ask and open the truck door.

Alcide doesn't try to stop me so I know it's really over. I slam the truck door and go back inside the house.

Asshole.

Another one bites the dust.

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**So there's the first chapter. Huge thanks to Missy Dee and Scribeninja for being such awesome prereaders. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Breathe Me

**Chapter 2**

I end up back at the diner since that's where my closest girlfriends work. I'm surprised to see Holly when I walk in since she's supposed to be off tonight. Jessica is behind the counter, chatting with the Berts. For God only knows what reason the Berts love sitting at the counter for hours on end, drinking coffee and chatting up the waitresses.

They're harmless old guys. They're both unmarried and still live at home with their mother, as far as I know. I think the Berts have been regulars here since the diner opened back in '84. They've even got personalized mugs we keep behind the counter that say Bert 1 or Bert 2 on them. Bert 1 works for the CTA as a bus driver downtown. Bert 2 is on disability, thanks to a back injury he sustained while working security at some fancy office building on Wacker Drive. He says he hurt himself while trying to wrestle a homeless man out of the lobby one night, but Bert 1 suspects his brother slipped on a newly waxed floor and was just too embarrassed to tell anyone.

"Sook, what are you doing here?" Bert 1 asks.

"Yeah, I thought you was goin' to da Bears game," Bert 2 says in his thick Chicago accent.

"Change of plans," I flash a weak smile while Jessica, my best friend, pours me a cup of coffee.

"Oh," the Berts say simultaneously. I hate the twin sympathetic looks I'm getting from them. It's Alcide's loss that he dumped me.

"Come on, Sookie," Jessica leads me away from the counter to a more private section.

We pick a table and sit. The dinner rush is over on Sunday night. Jess will only be dealing with stragglers from this point on. From about midnight until four it'll be completely dead in here. I hate getting stuck on that shift, but Jess likes it. She can do her homework. Unlike me, she finally settled on a career and is going to nursing school.

"Where's Arlene?" I ask as I pour sugar into my coffee.

"Lisa got sick. Again."

Mmhmmm.

"That's what, the fourth time this month?" I ask.

"The fifth," Holly says as she takes a seat at the table with us.

She's got a six-year-old son herself, and I can count on one hand the number of times she's called in sick because of her kid.

No one says so out loud but I know we're all wondering why Stan doesn't just fire her already. There are meteorologists that are more reliable than Arlene and in a city like Chicago, that's saying something.

"So, come on, tell Dr. Hamby why you're here instead of getting some post game nookie with the hot construction worker," Jessica says as Holly offers each of us a cigarette. I decline, but Jess takes one. She's not a regular smoker, but she'll have one every now and then to make sure she's not missing out on something.

I can't help but notice those incidents tend to coincide with my breakups.

"I don't know what happened," I say as my eyes well. "I did everything right. I didn't call a million times. I didn't sleep with him right away but I didn't make him wait too long either. I dress up when I see him. I even baked, for fuck's sake! I don't know what I keep doing wrong!"

I put my head down on the table and cry. Dramatic? Yes. I'm just so damn frustrated. I feel like I'm wasting my time. In the last year alone I've date three guys that I thought things could get serious with and it always ends the same way-with me bawling in the diner and breathing secondhand smoke.

"He's obviously an idiot if he broke up with you," Holly says.

"He said he thinks we should see other people." I lift my head and take the napkin Jess is offering me. "Everyone knows that's the nice way of saying you've already met someone else and you want permission to go give them a shot."

I wipe my tears off my face and a glass of water finds its way in front of me. What surprises me is when I see that it's Eric who's brought it to me. Our eyes meet and there's something in them... not sympathy, exactly, but understanding. Like he's been through the feelings I'm processing. My breath catches when the corner of his mouth lifts just a little.

Is he smiling at me?

"Thank you, Eric," I say sincerely, and my voice breaks whatever that just was between us.

He remembers himself and his face slides back into its default expression. Eric turns quickly to go back to the kitchen. I wonder aloud why he doesn't talk.

"Arlene says he doesn't have a tongue," Jessica says, and my head whips in her direction.

"What? That's ridiculous!" I laugh.

"I don't know," Holly takes a draw on her smoke, "I've been working here two years and I legit have never heard him speak."

"Maybe he just doesn't have anything to say," I shrug, and take a drink of my water.

"You know, I think more men should take Eric's approach," Holly says. "I swear sometimes if they would just shut up we wouldn't have to nag the shit out of them."

I smile a little at that.

"It really is like they're asking for it sometimes," Jessica agrees.

"You know Quinn broke up with me for not nagging him enough," I recall.

"No, he broke up with you because you didn't mother him enough," Jess corrects. "And maybe if he had better stamina than a twelve-year-old you would have considered it."

"Was he that bad?" Holly asks.

"They were dry humping in his kitchen and he blew his load in under a minute," Jessica explains.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Yes, Quinn wasn't exactly great when it came to holding back. The first time he went early I took it as a compliment that he was so excited he couldn't hold back. Only it wasn't a one time thing. It turned out Quinn just didn't have stamina. The crazy thing is that he dumped me for the reason Jessica said.

"Sookie, honey, you have to raise your standards. You're too good for all these clowns you keep dating," Holly advises.

"But Alcide seemed like a winner, you know? He was perfect on paper," I say.

Jessica gives me a look that says she disagrees with me.

"Sookie, he called when it was convenient for him and after you gave it up he did the minimum to keep you," Jess says, and I want to argue but she's not finished. "You let these douchebags walk all over you because you don't want to end up alone or like your mother, but settling for the first guy to tell you he loves you is no good either."

She's right. I hate it, but she's right

"I wish I was a lesbian," I sigh heavily.

"No you don't. Then you'd have to deal with someone nagging back," Holly jokes.

We continue down my list of failed relationships, hoping to figure out what is about me that is so fucked up that no man seems to tolerate me past the three month mark, until an unexpected crowd of drunk college students come in.

"Break's over, ladies," Stan says, appearing from out of nowhere.

"Yeah, yeah," Jessica grumbles and Holly snubs out her cigarette. "Call me tomorrow, Sook. We'll go get pedicures or something, my treat. Do not call Alcide."

I hug my friend and then she's off to go wait on her tables. Holly gives me a hopeful smile and does the same. I take my time drinking my water and watch Eric when he comes out of the kitchen with a rack of clean glasses. He's tall and lean, but not nearly as threatening as someone of his size should be. Slightly greasy blonde hair the same shade as mine brushes his shoulders and he's always got a few days worth of stubble on his face.

Since he doesn't talk I don't know anything about him. I've been curious in the most basic sense, but since he doesn't seem interested in making friends with any of us I don't pester him. I'm polite to him, though. I don't take it personally that he's not a talker, and since I don't gossip like Arlene does I don't buy into any of her crazy theories about Eric either.

He's just a quiet man that does his job and goes on with his life.

I get so lost in my thoughts that I don't realize he's turned around until I feel him looking back at me, and it's then that I realize I was staring at his ass. It's a nice ass. My cheeks flush and I scramble to get up. I put my eyes anywhere but on Eric, and get my coat on for the walk home.

Three weeks ago my car finally bit it on me so I've been walking to or from work when the buses aren't running. Thankfully I'm in a relatively safe part of the city and I know the streets well enough to be able to change up the path I take to get there. I also carry a little bottle of hairspray in my coat pocket just in case so if anyone sneaks up on me they'll get a faceful of Aquanet x8 hold spray.

"See you Tuesday, Sookie," Stan says as I get to the door.

"Goodnight, Stan," I sigh and walk out.

It takes about twenty minutes to walk home, but only because I'm in no rush to get there. When I get to the house I see Pam's had dad and Jason up on the roof to put lights up there since I was home earlier. As soon as I open the front door I see the awful pink glow of our Christmas tree, and I cringe.

I miss the real trees dad used to buy when we were kids, back before he met Pam and he let her take over the decorating. The tree is covered in red lights and red ornaments, making it a hot pink mess. I shake my head at the awful tree and go upstairs. The first thing I see in my room are the presents I bought for Alcide. My lower lip quivers, but rather than dwelling on what I've lost I strip out of my clothes and grab my robe off the back of my door.

In the shower I wash off my makeup and the smell of smoke. I tell myself that I'm not going to think about Alcide, but who am I kidding? I just wish I knew what I did that was so wrong. Jessica always says that I'm too nice. I chock it up to residual people pleasing requirements from work, but Jess thinks it goes much deeper than that. My armchair psychologist tells me it's because of the abandonment at such an early part of my childhood.

Maybe Jess is right. Maybe I'm somehow looking for the love I never got from my mother in my relationships with men. That's a pretty fucked up notion, but I suppose it makes sense. I stand under the hot spray until the water starts to cool, and then I finally get out of the shower. I brush my teeth and put lotion on my face before going back to my room. The pile of presents are still staring back at me.

Despite Alcide saying that this is just a temporary thing, I know it's not. Why would I want someone back who didn't think enough of me the first time around to pass up whatever else he was being offered? I can admit that maybe my self-esteem isn't as high as it should be, but even I have my limits. At this point I know I would be Alcide's second choice.

Thanks, but no thanks.

There's someone else out there, someone better suited for me. Maybe I just need to take a step back from dating for a while. Jess is always telling me that I try too hard. Maybe she's right about that, too.

I put on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a thermal shirt. I comb out my hair and towel dry it until it's just barely damp, and then quickly weave my hair into a French braid without looking in a mirror. When I take the braid out in the morning it'll be all wavy.

I gather up all the things that remind me of Alcide, including his presents, and put them in my closet. I'll deal with them eventually. For now I'm too exhausted to do anything other than crawl into bed and go to sleep.

I hope things will be better tomorrow.

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**If you don't know what a Chicago accent sounds like try to get footage of the Saturday Night Live Super Fans and you'll get to hear what it sounds like. I don't have that accent unless I slip into it on purpose. But every time I hear someone talk like that all I see is Chris Farley in a grass skirt havin' anudder heart attack. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Girl Is On My Mind

Chapter 3

A week later I'm feeling better about the breakup. It still bothers me, but I'm over the hump of wanting him back. I've returned all of Alcide's gifts, so at least that's a couple hundred extra dollars in my pocket. Jess says I should put the money in savings and use it for a singles cruise or something but I'm not interested.

I need to get a new car, so that's where the money's going. I don't need anything too flashy or fancy, just something so I'm not walking home at three in the morning in the middle of winter. I'd ask my brother to pick me up but he's about as reliable as Arlene. When I work the day shifts I can just take buses on the really cold or snowy days, but the buses stop running at the time I usually get off and don't start up again until around 4:30 or so. There are night owl services but the routes put me too far out of my way.

Jason drops me off at work just before six when my shift is set to start. It's a Friday night so I know it'll be busy for most of the night, but that's a good thing. More business means more tips, and in the almost ten years that I've been waiting tables I've picked up a few tricks that help increase the amounts people leave. I walk into the diner and aside from the Berts parked at the counter, as per usual, the first thing I see is someone fighting with the jukebox.

The machine is mine. My great uncle left it to me in his will, but since there's no good place for a jukebox in our house, Stan agreed to let me keep it here. It's a classic machine and not one of the new digital ones. It plays mostly songs from the 1950s. Uncle Bartlett was a big fan of Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Miles Davis, Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, John Coltrane, Tony Bennett, Ray Charles, Hank Williams, Muddy Waters, Patsy Cline, Brenda Lee, Elvis Presley, Conway Twitty, Jerry Lee Lewis, Buddy Holly and the Drifters. The thing is, it's an old machine so it sticks sometimes. People kick it or shake it, thinking that's going to help, but that only makes it worse.

"Don't hit the machine!" I call out when I see a hand raise to it. "It just needs a second to reset and the record will drop."

Sure enough Ray Charles starts to play a moment later. I unzip my coat and head to the kitchen. There's a little area in the back of the kitchen where all the dishwashing stuff is for us to hang up our coats and purses. When I get back there I see Eric is already there, rinsing a load of dishes bound for the industrial washer we have.

"Hi, Eric," I say as I usually do.

The other girls tend to ignore him unless they need a table cleared or something cleaned up. He turns just a little to look at me and the corner of his mouth lifts just a little for a fraction of a second before going back to his work. I agree that it's strange how little he talks, but I don't think he's a weirdo the way some of the girls do. He keeps to himself and does his job.

Maybe he just doesn't think we're interesting enough to carry on a conversation with.

I put up my coat and purse on my usual hook, and grab my apron from the hook underneath it. I tie the apron on and grab a fresh order pad since I'm running low on tickets on my current one. For a moment I stand there and watch Eric. He moves gracefully for someone so tall, with such long limbs. My eyes linger on him until he freezes. Before he can turn around to look at me, I hustle out of the back room and head for the counter to check the giant coffeemaker.

"Hey, Sookie," the Berts say as I step up on the step stool we keep behind the counter to check the machine. Even Stan needs it to check the machine.

"Hey, boys. How are you?" I peek into the machine and grab a fresh bag of grounds to pour into the filter after dumping the old stuff out.

"Pretty good," Bert 2 says. "You know Tony Donuts?"

There's like a dozen Tonys that come in here so they all have a nickname of some kind.

"Yeah, I know him. Why?"

"His brudder died two days ago. Heart attack. Just keeled over while he was workin' on the purple line," Bert 2 says.

"That's awful," I say sympathetically, and get down from the step stool. I pour myself a cup of coffee and reset the machine to start percolating again.

"He was only forty-tree-years-old," Bert 2 says with a shake of his head.

Holly comes over to catch me up on the tables I'm taking over, and then the Berts finish telling me about Tony's brother. I have to cut them off to go check my tables and take orders for new customers. The dinner rush keeps me busy, running from table to table, from the kitchen to the dining area, until almost nine.

I don't mind. I like when the nights go by quick. Chances are it means my tips are better.

When a lull finally hits I grab the salt and pepper to refill the shakers in my section. Jessica comes over to do her shakers as well, and the smile on her face tells me she's up to something.

"What?" I ask when she doesn't stop staring at me.

"What are you doing next Tuesday?"

"Uh, I'm not sure. I work the lunch shift that day, otherwise I don't know. Why?"

"Because Hoyt has a friend-"

"No," I cut her off.

"Sookie!"

"_No_. Jess, look, I think I need to back off of that for a little while. I think I need to be single and get my head on straight. I'm just tired of the whole dating thing right now," I tell her.

"But Sam is so sweet and I really think you two would hit it off," she says.

"Well if he's still available when I snap out of this I'll give him a chance," I promise her.

Jessica sighs but knows that once I dig my heels in on something I don't give up easily.

She sighs and says, "Okay, but I think he could be the one."

I roll my eyes. Jessica has had this feeling before. She's a great friend but she's a shit matchmaker. The last guy she set me up with turned out to be a closet masochist that wanted me to tie him up and beat him every time he had an orgasm. I ran like hell from that guy. I don't mind a little kink, but this guy wanted me to leave bruises or make him bleed, and I wasn't into that at all.

_I'm not into that. _

"If that's true then we'll find our way to each other. Right now I just need a break from it all."

Jessica shakes her head like she's got something to say about that but new customers call her away from our side work. I finish with my salt and pepper shakers and take the big containers back to the kitchen. I stop short when I see Eric through the window leading into the back room. He's got his shirt off, probably because something spilled or sloshed on him, and there are scars all over his chest and stomach.

My breath catches at all of the little marks and I wonder if those are from a bad childhood. My heart breaks at the idea of someone who seems as kind and gentle as Eric being abused so severely that it left scars. As seems to be the case lately, I get caught up in my thoughts and don't realize he's looking at me until it's too late. I clear my throat and even though I want to turn and look the other way we both know I just saw something I'm not supposed to know anything about.

In spite of how uncomfortable I suddenly feel I have to put the salt and pepper away. I go into the back room and keep my eyes averted while I put things away. I'm not going to tell anyone what I just saw, but I don't want to say anything to Eric to make him think I need an explanation. His past is his own.

When I turn around to leave the room, Eric looks like he wants to say something, but isn't sure what.

"It's okay, Eric. I won't say anything," I say quietly.

He nods, looking relieved. When I smile at him he smiles back for the first time. He's got a beautiful smile and it makes my heart race. I can't remember the last time a smile did that to me. I want to say something else, but I don't know what. So we stand there staring at each other until Stan calls out, looking for me.

I boldly reach out and pat Eric's arm, and to my surprise, he puts his hand on mine. I feel a spark of something when he touches me, but I doubt Eric feels it too. Our eyes meet again but there are still no words. I don't need them, though. This is enough.

When I pull my hand away he lets me go. There's absolutely something mysterious about Eric, and now I'm sure it has to do with the scars he's got all over his chest and stomach. But it's none of my business and I'm not going to ask him about them. I leave the back room to find we've got a fresh wave of customers, and I get over to my section to start taking drink orders. It's too early for drunks. These are mostly folks coming from the nearby movie theater, looking for coffee and something sweet to discuss what they've just seen.

Johnny Cash plays on the jukebox and I hum along to 'Big River' while I walk around with a coffee pot to top off my customers. I go back to the back room for a new box of straws and find Eric back there again, this time clutching his hand. I hustle through the door and without thinking twice, I grab his hand to look at it.

"You burned yourself," I say with sympathy and crinkle my nose.

His eyes focus on my face.

"Does it hurt?"

He nods.

"Okay, come here." I lead him over to the sink and turn the water on at a cool temperature.

I put his hand under the water and at first he recoils.

"I'm sorry," I apologize. "I know it hurts, but it'll feel better in a minute."

Eric keeps watching me while I run water over his hand, but he remains silent.

"You don't talk much," I glance up at his stormy blue eyes. "That's okay. I don't mind. I think most people talk too much, just to fill the silences. Silence can be nice sometimes. I'd like a little more silence in my life. Sometimes I hear the things people say around here and I wonder what it would be like to be deaf. It sounds drastic, I know, but it might be nice not to have to hear all the mindless chatter, you know?"

I start to laugh when I realized I'm rambling like an idiot. I turn off the water and pat Eric's hand dry with a clean towel. I grab the first aid kit off the wall and lead Eric over to a stainless steel table. I hop up and open the kit. Eric leaves his palm up for me and I squeeze some of the burn ointment onto his injured hand.

"Does it still hurt?" I ask.

He shakes his head and I smile again.

"It'll probably be a little sensitive for a few days, but it's not too serious. Just keep it covered tonight and try to keep it clean so there's no chance of infection," I tell him while I wrap his hand with a bandage. "There you go. All set."

Just because it's a habit from childhood I dip my head and kiss his boo boo. When I look up Eric seems surprised by my actions and I wonder when the last time is that someone did something nice for him or took care of him.

I really shouldn't be so curious about Eric all of a sudden. He still hasn't spoken to me. I've never heard him say my name, even though I'm sure he knows it. In fact, someone who sits back and observes as much as Eric does, I'm sure he knows a lot more about me than I realize.

"I should get back out there," I say quietly, and then groan in frustration when someone hits my jukebox so I yell for them to knock it off. "Take care of that hand, Eric."

I don't expect him to respond and it's a good thing I don't because he doesn't.

I leave the back room through the side door and yell, "I'm not going to tell you again not to hit my jukebox!"

There are two men standing in front of it. One is just under six feet tall with dark hair and the other is about my height, but with platinum hair. The two of them turn to look at me as I walk up to them.

"This piece of junk ate my money," the dark haired one says, and there's something familiar about him but I can't place how we know each other.

"It didn't, it just gets stuck for a second sometimes," I explain. "Just be patient and it'll start."

The blond one is staring at me like I'm a last meal or something, and it's freaking me out. Thankfully, Buddy Holly starts to play and that solves the trouble. The two men go to a booth that isn't in my section, but I feel them staring at me while I check on my tables. There's something about the dark haired one that keeps nagging at me, but I don't know what it is my brain is trying to remind me of.

"Hey Sook," Jessica says from behind me while I'm picking up plates from a table that's just turned over. I don't normally bus tables but since I know Eric hurt his hand I might as well give him a break.

"What's up?"

"The guys over at table seven are asking for you."

Oh good, the jukebox terrorists aren't done with me yet.

"I'll be right there," I say and then deposit the dirty dishes into the bins toward the back of the room.

After taking a series of deep breaths, I go out to the front and stop at table seven.

"Can I help you with something?" I ask.

"We just wanted to apologize for hitting the machine," Dark Hair says.

"Oh, it's okay. Happens all the time. No hard feelings," I smile and when I start to walk away Dark Hair grabs my wrist.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he asks.

I pull my hand back since I don't feel comfortable with him touching me, and really he has no business grabbing me like this.

"No, I don't. Should I?"

Dark Hair looks annoyed with me for a split second and then slaps on what he probably thinks is a charming smile. He says, "Peter Threadgill's fourth of July party... with the slip 'n slide wet T-shirt contest and keg stands..."

It takes a minute but it all comes back to me. The party was Jessica's idea, and we both got hammered that night on cheap beer and these rocket pop shots that didn't taste like they had alcohol in them. Dark Hair had hit on me at the party and I'd danced with him once before the toxic level of alcohol in my system took over and I puked on him.

Jessica came cutting in to take care of me, much to Dark Hair's dismay. He didn't like that Jessica pulled me away and I remembered him calling her a nosy cunt. If Jessica hadn't been drunk and concerned with taking care of me she would have kicked Dark Hair's ass. I remember him following us, trying to get me away from Jessica. Obviously she doesn't remember any of this or there's no way in hell she would have summoned me.

"Come on, Sookie," he purrs, but when he says my name he pronounces it all wrong. It makes my stomach turn.

"I remember," I slap on an emergency smile. I really wish I didn't remember.

"So how've you been? Are you seeing anyone?"

"I'm good," I say and try not to look around to make sure we're not alone. If nothing else the Berts are at the counter and they turn into protective uncles when guys like Dark Hair get out of line with us girls.

"We should hang out sometime. I think you, me and Andre could have some fun together," he says.

"I'm sorry, what's your name?"

Again he looks annoyed with me, like I'm ridiculous for not knowing his name. There's a little bit of disgust on his face.

"Bill," he says as the creepy attempt at charming comes back.

"Right," I nod like I knew it all along.

"So what do you say, Sookeh?"

"I say I'm not allowed to date customers," I say with a sympathetic smile.

Bill doesn't like my answer, but thankfully another table needs my attention so I excuse myself. As I cross over to my section I take note of Eric standing in the shadows, holding onto a mop like he's ready to use it as a weapon. There's a fierceness in his eyes and I can't help but think he was ready to jump in and kick some ass if I needed the help.

_I'm okay_, I mouth to him and then wink before going on to check my tables.


	4. Turn My Head

**.:: WARNING ::.  
**

**THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SEXUAL VIOLENCE. READ ON AT YOUR OWN RISK.  
**

* * *

Chapter 4

The night finally ends for me at just after two. I'm exhausted and ready to pass out. Judging by how many empty sugar jars I had to refill I know I made good tips. I get my money all squared away in the inside pocket of my coat, that way if I get mugged in the way home I won't be completely without money. Jessica is already gone, having left an hour ago to meet up with Hoyt Fortenberry. She's been seeing him for more than a year now.

He treats Jessica like a queen and I know she's completely in love with him. I'm happy for her. She deserves a good guy after all the dickheads she's dated. I've known Jessica since middle school. She's been my best friend for half my life. Shoddy matchmaking skills aside, I adore her.

"You sure you're okay getting home, Sookie?" Stan asks me when I come out in my winter gear.

"Yep, I'll be fine. Goodnight, Stan," I wave and then go out the front door.

It's cold outside but that's nothing new lately. At least it isn't snowing. My breath fogs ahead of me as I burrow into my scarf a little more. I put on a pair of sweatpants under my uniform and I've got a sherpa-lined hoodie on under my down jacket. Comfy Ugg boots are on my feet and there are mittens on my hands, which are tucked into my coat pockets.

The city is all dressed up for the Christmas holiday with the evergreen garland and decorations hanging from the light poles. I wonder how many millions of dollars the city spends on decorating every Christmas. A bank's digital sign tells me that it's 2:17 AM and only 28 degrees fahrenheit outside. You'd think I'd be used to the cold by now, but I'm not. I start humming the old Nat King Cole standard '_When I Fall in Love_' to keep my mind off of the cold.

I've always loved this song. I remember my Gran singing it to me when I was a little girl. There was one time when I got awful sick and I went to her house so she could take care of me. She was up and down with me all night long, doing whatever I needed to get me better. As a child Gran was really the only mom I had. She did what she could and she taught me well when it comes to manners and etiquette.

Because of Gran, I've always been popular with my friends' parents. I was the kid that always said please or thank you and yes sir or yes ma'am. That's just the way I was raised, and every now and then the southern accent I had as a child comes out. Usually when I'm fired up about something. Jason calls it my Steel Magnolia Complex. I remind him to hush if he doesn't want to get his tail tore up and he settles down.

I'm about three blocks from the diner when I hear the squeal of tires behind me. I turn to see a sporty little BMW coming toward me with the windows down and what sounds like Van Halen on the radio. I keep walking, wanting no part of whatever is going on in that car. Of course it slows down when it gets close to me and I cringe when I see Bill hanging out the driver's side window.

What the hell does he want?

"Hey, Sookeh, want a ride?" he offers. I smell marijuana coming out of his car.

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

"Come on, it's not safe for a pretty girl like you to be out all alone like this late at night."

"No, really, I'm okay. My house isn't too far from here," I tell him.

I never stop walking and when I reach the next corner I make an unnecessary left turn, thinking I know a way to make a run for it if I need to. A normal person would just leave me alone, but not Bill. He makes a left turn to follow me and he's driving on the wrong side of the road on a one way street he shouldn't even be on. Is he high or just plain crazy?

"Come on, Sookie, come party with us. I guarantee you'll have the greatest night of your life," Bill says.

"Thanks, but I'm real tired. I just want to go home," I smile over at him.

Bill looks over at Andre and then says, "Alright, it's your loss."

He slams on the gas, making the tires spin on the wet pavement. The car fishtails a little bit and then turns down an alley. I breathe a sigh of relief and then turn around to get back to where I turned left. Unfortunately my feeling of relief is short-lived. When I get to the alley opening a block later the BMW with Bill and Andre in it are idling there. They turn the high beams on, stopping me in my tracks and blinding me.

I hear a car door open and then Bill is standing in front of the car, blocking one of the lights. I lift my hand to shield my eyes from the other. Every single instinct in my body is telling me to run as fast as I can. There is absolutely nothing good that can come from being trapped in an alley with these two freaks.

Two arms come up from behind me and grab me around my shoulders and I scream. A hand covers my mouth and as soon as I start struggling, I bite the hand. I'm so busy fighting the hold that Andre has on me that I stop paying attention to Bill. That is until he grabs ahold of my scarf and slaps me hard. Tears immediately sting my eyes.

"She fucking bit me," Andre hisses.

"You bit my friend," Bill shakes his head. He dips down to try and get ahold of my legs, but I start fighting again.

No way on God's green earth am I going down without a fight; it's just not in my nature. I keep kicking and manage to get my mittens off so I can pop the top off the hairspray in my pocket. I can't see behind me but I raise the can and spray in the direction of Andre's face. He screams and lets me go.

I pay for this, however, with a thunderous backhanded slap from Bill that makes my jaw feel like it's shifted to the left a little. He's stronger than he looks, I'll give him that. There's a starburst of pain in my face and I drop the only weapon I have. Bill takes advantage of me being off balance and drags me deeper into the alley.

He covers my mouth to muffle my screams and says, "Make one more fucking sound and I will slit your fucking throat."

My eyes squeeze shut and I taste blood, probably from a split lip. I feel my face swelling up and even though I struggle with Bill, he gets me down on the icy ground. I keep fighting with him, mostly trying to get my knee somewhere near the raisins he calls balls.

But then there's the shiny, silver blade of a knife flashing in front of me.

"Move one more time and I will cut you," he threatens.

Andre comes stumbling over and Bill orders him to take hold of my hands. Andre kneels on them, above my head, which is seriously painful. I whimper and quietly plead for Bill to stop what he's doing as he takes cuts off my scarf and rips open my coat.

"Please, Bill, you don't have to do this," I say, but he grabs ahold of my hair and jerks my face close to his.

"Yes, I do, slut. I gave you a chance to let me be nice, but you wanted it rough like the slutty little bitch I know you are," he says, and rips the name tag off my uniform.

He lets go of my hair and my head smacks the concrete. Bill starts to lower the zipper on my hoodie, and I squeeze my eyes shut again, forcing more tears out of my eyes. He's straddling my legs, sitting on my thighs, so I can't kick him off of me.

"Wait until you see these tits, Andre," Bill says as he pulls down the zipper on the front of my uniform.

"No!" I scream. "No! Stop!"

I pay for my outburst with another vicious slap and when I scream again Bill hits me with something at my temple that makes me woozy and my vision go fuzzy. For a moment everything is out of focus. I hear a loud thud, followed by Bill yelling something. I fight to open my eyes and the last thing I see is a flash of gold high above my head before everything goes dark.

When I come to I'm wrapped in a heavy coat that isn't mine. I'm on the glider bench on my front porch and I have no idea how I've gotten here. My face hurts, my body feels numb from being out in the cold. The sun is coming up and the light hurts my eyes. My head is pounding and I can feel my pulse in my lip.

I look around and see Eric huddled on the steps with his arms drawn into himself. He stops moving and just stares at me like a deer caught in the headlights. I sit up quickly and it flings away the coat that I can only assume is his. My balance is off, making me stumble a little, and my head spins. Between the knocks to the head and the adrenaline roller-coastering my body is experiencing, I'm completely thrown off.

Eric stands up as well and I take a step back. A cold breeze hits my chest and I look down to see my dirty uniform is wide open, leaving what used to be a white lace bra on display. I pull my uniform closed and try to find my voice. Eric steps back from the porch and my eyes well with tears that sting. I want to thank him as my memories start to flood into my consciousness, but I can't get myself to speak.

He doesn't take his coat back, he simply backs away until he reaches the sidewalk and then he turns to run. I stand there on the porch. My purse, soiled coat, dirty hoodie and ripped up sweatpants are all piled up there near my feet. I carefully bend down to collect my things and every muscle in my body screams at me. In a daze I find my keys at the bottom of my purse and let myself into the house.

I lock up behind me and make my way up the stairs as quietly as possible. When I get to my room I catch my reflection in the mirror and my hand flies up to muffle the noise that escapes me so I don't wake anyone. The last thing I need is for my father or Jason to come in and see me like this.

I'm a hot mess. Already I have bruises on my face and neck, and my lip is indeed split and swollen. When I let go of my uniform I see more finger-shaped bruises on my chest from where Bill grabbed me. I'm sure I've got more bruises on my back, bottom and hands from being knelt on. Makeup is smeared on my face. My hair is a mess with God knows what in it thanks to the filthy city street I was pinned to.

I let my ruined uniform fall to the floor and then carefully take off my boots. Somehow I managed to skin one of my knees in the struggle. I take off my pantyhose and then my bra and underwear to inspect my body for more injuries and find them in various places. Common sense says I should go to the hospital, but if I do there will be a police report and the police will just say I had it coming for being out so late by myself.

_You know, since it would be wrong to blame a rapist instead of the victim. _

I grab my robe off the back of my bedroom door and slip into it. I put all of my ruined clothes in my bedroom closet to take out of the house later when no one else is home. In the bathroom I start the water for a shower and brush my teeth carefully to get the coppery taste of blood out of my mouth.

It isn't until I'm in the shower that I finally let the dam break and I lean against the wall while I sob. No matter how hot the water is, or how hard I scrub, I'm convinced I'll never again feel clean.

* * *

**Fucking Bill. Fucking Andre. Poor Sookie. God bless Eric. That's about all I got. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Fix You

Chapter 5

I tell my family that I slipped on some black ice on the walk home and the fall is why I'm all bruised up. If they don't believe me they don't press for further details. I spend most of the day in bed with my phone turned off and zero appetite. I'm supposed to work tonight night but there's no way.

Around noon I call Stan to tell him I'm not feeling well. Since I don't call in sick too often he doesn't give me any shit for it.

"Get better soon, Sookie," he says and then hangs up.

Unfortunately I don't think I'll be recovering from this for a while, and certainly not by Monday when I'm due back at work.

Just the thought of leaving my house is reason enough for me to panic. I feel safe here.

Eric's coat is draped over the bench of my vanity. I know I need to get it back to him but just getting out of bed to go to the bathroom is daunting to me. Besides, I don't know where he lives or how he would feel about me just showing up there.

I wonder how he knows where I live, but then I remember my driver's license is in my purse. He very easily could have just checked it for my address. Yet I get the feeling that's not what happened. Sure it's possible he was headed in the same direction as me and heard me fighting with Bill, but as far as I knew Eric left the diner a little after midnight.

Unless he likes taking leisurely strolls at two in the morning, and with Eric who knows, there's something off about the way he just swooped in like some superhero. Not that I'm not thankful for him coming to my rescue because God knows what Bill and Andre would have done to me if he hadn't come along.

Eventually I take some aspirin in the hopes of stopping the polka band that's playing in my head. I force myself to eat some chicken soup and when Jessica calls to check on me I tell her that I've got the flu that's been going around.

"That blows. Want me to bring you some of those trashy romance novels you love so much?" she offers like the great friend she is.

"No, that's okay. I'm sure I'll be fine in a few days. I'm just going to take a bunch of NyQuil and sleep this off."

I feel like a turd for lying to her. If there's anyone I should be able to talk to about this, it's my best friend. But for some reason I can't bring myself to tell her about the attack. It isn't that I think she'll judge me for it, but I don't want her to feel guilty. Watching out for me isn't her job.

"Okay, but if you need anything give me a call," she says.

"Will do. I'll see you in a couple of days."

We say our goodbyes and I hang up.

**%%%%%**

Four days later I still haven't gone back to work. My bruises are healing and I'm not feeling quite so freaked out, but I know I'm not ready to go back to work either. I borrow my dad's car and drive to the nearest Target. It's one of the two story stores, and I drive around until I can get a parking space close to the entrance.

Since I'm not working I figure I might as well get some of my Christmas shopping done, and they've got a crock pot on sale that I know Pam has been eyeballing. On the first level I browse around men's clothing and pick up a couple of t-shirts for Jason. I find the tackle box Dad said he wants and I get myself a giant peppermint mocha from the Starbucks that's built-in.

Once I have everything I need from the first level I take my cart to the escalator. No way in hell am I getting in an elevator with anyone. My trust in the human race is shot at the moment. I've been living in my brother's old sweats and Dad's old flannel shirts for days. I've left my hair down to hide the fading bruises on my neck and I don't know if I'll want to wear makeup ever again.

Looking good is nowhere on my list of priorities. In fact I hope I'm sending a signal that tells the rest of the world to fuck off and leave me be. I don't want to flirt and I don't want to be approached by anyone who isn't wearing a badge. Really I just want to be alone but I know I can't stay a shut-in forever. I'm going to have to go back to work and I know I can't get on just day shifts. The money isn't as good and up until a few days ago I liked working nights.

If I stay scared it's like Bill wins and I'm not going to let that fucker call the shots for the rest of my life. While I ride the escalator up to the second floor I look over the side to the floor below. I've been wearing Eric's coat, and I'm not sure why but I feel safe when I have it on.

It's draped over my arm and when I get to the top of the escalator there's a crowd of people waiting to go down. While I wait for my cart to catch up with me a hand brushes mine. I turn to see Eric going down the steps and my mouth opens to say something, but just like on the porch the morning after the attack, all words abandon me.

Thank you would be the obvious choice, but that doesn't seem like nearly enough.

Eric watches me the whole way down and I debate over whether or not I should go down to talk to him. As far as I know he's made no attempts to contact me since Saturday morning. He hasn't asked for his coat back and he didn't pull me off to the side just now like he could have.

But he has seen that I have his coat and that I'm carrying it with me. I have no choice but to take my cart and get out of the way. Eric disappears into the crowd and I feel awful for not being strong enough to go after him.

I have so many questions I want to ask. In my head the conversation flows so easily. He tells me everything about that night that I can't remember and he assures me that Bill and Andre will never bother me ever again. There was nothing on the news about their bodies being discovered dead in that alley so I assume Eric didn't kill them, even if he may have wanted to.

Eric must have sat out in the cold for more than three hours, just watching me to make sure I was still breathing. Every time I think about him my heart aches in a way it never has before, but then no one's ever saved my life before. I don't know what to make of these feelings, but I know whenever I regain the ability to speak in front of him he's going to get an earful from me.

**%%%%%**

Finally, it's been a week since the attack and I get up the courage to go back to work. It's a night shift and I make my brother promise to pick me up at two when I get off.

"Sook, it's Friday night. I don't know if I'll be in any kind of shape to drive by then," he complains.

"Jase, it's gonna be in the low twenties outside and I'm just coming off of being sick. Don't make me call and wake up Daddy and Pam."

"Fine, fine, I'll be here at two," he grumbles.

I don't have much faith in that promise but it's all I've got. During my time off I bought a new coat. I have Eric's with me, as well as a pair of sweatpants just in case Jason doesn't show up. The familiar smells of coffee, grease and smoke hit me the second I walk into the diner. Everything looks exactly the same, but I feel different.

"Sookie!" The Berts call out to me with excitement.

I wave at them but then go to the back room to put up my coat and give Eric his if he's back there. When I don't see him right away I worry that he's not there. It would serve me right if he isn't. I should have thanked him when I had the chance. Once my coat is up and my apron is on I go back behind the counter and check the coffeemaker first thing.

"So how ya been, Sook?" Bert 2 asks.

"Oh, I've been better," I say and dump out the old coffee grounds.

"Stan said you got that bug that was going around," Bert 1 says.

"Yeah, I think that's all it was. Nothing too serious." I put fresh grounds in the machine and restart the percolator.

"Lucky you didn't end up in the hospital," Bert 2 says.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and silently agree. The Berts have no idea how lucky I really am.

"Speaking of hospitals," Bert 1 starts. "Remember those two guys that were in here messing with the jukebox the other night?"

I freeze.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well Tony Dogs had to go to the emergency room on account of his kid having his stomach pumped after drinking too much, and he said he saw those guys in there all busted up. The blond one's eyes were a mess and it looked like his nose and hand were busted up. Then the dark haired one was worked over even worse. Dogs said it looked like he'd been hit by a freight train," Bert 1 tells me.

Immediately I know who that freight train is, and when I look to the left I see Eric clearing table twenty-one.

"Will you guys excuse me, please?"

They nod and I go over to Eric. I grab his hand and pull him into the back room.

When we get there I just look up at him for a minute before picking up his right hand. Sure enough it's still a little bruised and swollen. My breath catches and once again I'm at a loss for words.

I pet the top of his hand and try not to cry.

"Are you okay?" Eric asks me, and my eyes shoot up to his.

The timbre of his voice seeps into me and warms me from my spine on out. I like the sound of his voice.

"Yes," I squeak out. "I... Thank you."

I let go of his hand and wrap my arms around him. His heart is thundering under my ear and his arms slowly wrap around me, too. It doesn't feel weird to hug Eric.

"Tighter," I say softly, and he firms up his hold on me. "I know it's not enough for what you did for me. Anything I can do to repay you..."

Eric doesn't speak, but that's okay.

After a minute I pull back and ask, "How did you know where I live?"

Beautiful, guilty eyes shift to the floor and he quietly says, "I follow you."

"You follow me home?" This surprises me.

"I wasn't finished," he says.

"Finish."

"I follow you home because it's not safe and I worry."

Oh.

I don't even know what to say. I've never noticed him following me before. I should probably be creeped out, but at the moment I'm too grateful.

"For how long have you been following me?" I ask.

"Just since your car broke down." Eric's eyes finally meet mine and I see a fading bruise on his chin. No doubt it's there because of me. "I'm sorry."

"Eric, it's okay." I take his hand again.

"I wasn't finished."

I smile and say, "Finish."

"I'm sorry I was late," he says with sincerity and his eyes on mine.

My heart breaks wide open at those five words. This man who owes me absolutely nothing, who risked his life to save mine, is apologizing to me for... I have no words yet again.

So I do the only thing I can think of. I grab his face and kiss him.


End file.
